


g(host)

by guttersvoice



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: Masturbation, Other, maybe a little implied tendership if you squint, oversensitive ghost exploring a body
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-23
Updated: 2016-04-23
Packaged: 2018-06-04 00:01:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6632404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guttersvoice/pseuds/guttersvoice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, the spirit of the Ring makes use of the body it 'rents' for purposes other than revenge. It hasn't had a body in a long, long time, after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	g(host)

**Author's Note:**

> 'they' in this can be read as plural or singular, so you don't have to read this with my personal headcanons about bakura's gender, but you can if you want  
> the ring spirit is referred to as 'it' in this because it's kind of about its sense of self or lack thereof
> 
> theres some tendershipping implied here but you might miss it if youre not looking for it

It bites their lip as it slips into Ryou, awareness of the physicality of the body spreading from the core into the limbs, and to the very tips of their fingers. Ryou pushes back a little, but the spirit of the Ring is well-practiced and doesn't even need to sink sharp metal into shared flesh. The living boy falls asleep in the void and the dead one cracks open stolen eyes.

It's still not used to looking down at itself like this. Very nearly the same body, but softer, fuller in different places. Stark pale in the dark of this bedroom.

This body, it thinks, looks more like a ghost than it does.

It fills the lungs with air, nice and slow, and lets it out, feels it cool and soft on their tongue and through their teeth.

Sensation, after too long trapped in the dark without time, is sweeter than anything. Perhaps not as sweet as revenge, but that takes patience. Sensation it can have now. It can indulge, now, more than it ever could. A soft bed and an uninterrupted space.

It smiles, revels in the feeling of the mouth stretching wide. Soft, uncalloused fingers lift to brush over curved lips, feeling out the shape of them. The fingernails are bitten down. It wonders if the host did that, so that it wouldn't use their nails. It wouldn't. Last time, that hadn't produced a positive reaction after the fact, as much as it had enjoyed it. The smile pushes further across the face. Someone Ryou knew called the spirit's smile ‘nightmarish’, once. It doesn't mind. It doesn't think Ryou minds that much, really.

Teeth catch on fingertips, and a tiny laugh escapes. Nerve ending spark shivers throughout the body.

As luxurious as it seems to own as many clothes as Ryou does, it doesn't want to be wearing any right now. Wants to shake in the cold air. It's careful, this time. Throws fabric to the floor unmarred and laughs and reclines. They look so clean and healthy it's absurd.

And the skin is sensitive.

Maybe it’s just because the spirit is still unused to feeling - a few years with occasional access to the physical world is nothing compared to the thousands it spent semi-conscious and slowly unravelling in empty nothingness - but the gentlest touch sends shudders right to the core of them. It is not being gentle. The nails aren’t an option this time, so it handles the body roughly, gripping hard enough to bruise, and then thinking better of it.

The intent isn’t to harm the body. It wants the body to last as long as possible while it has such a close connection to it, and harm tends to be detrimental to that goal - so detrimental to its other goals, too. It wants to stay here, and knowing that the boy can’t get away doesn’t make it easier when it’s thrown away. So damage to the body goes against its objectives, most of the time.

Sheer sensation, though - it finds it hard to hold back when every purpling fingerprint reverberates hotly through, pooling in their core. A wonder it doesn’t wake the host this way. But Ryou is used to possessing a body, and less used to being possessed, and sleeps right through. Perhaps the oblivion is pleasant for someone not trapped there for countless centuries. Perhaps the landlord doesn’t even notice how empty that non-place is.

Perhaps, perhaps. It doesn’t like to care about maybes. Maybe coexistence is having an effect on the way the spirit approaches thoughts. Maybe they both affect each other’s patterns.

Certainly it’s distracted from touching itself, with all of these maybes.

When it first took up residence in this body, it would be overwhelmed and retreat back into the Ring after just a little groping like this. Now it’s able to philosophise while it bites lips and runs fingertips over the scars it left on this chest. 

Difficult to tell if that’s a good thing or not, but it still can’t fully consider this its body, so some things might not change, at least.

The inner thighs are sensitive and giving, and the disparity between milk-soft and the taut, dark muscle it remembers is a lurching reminder of what was lost. It can almost hear those whispers again, pushing and pulling and making sure it never, ever forgets, and that heavy throb of nameless dread underneath it all, compelling and near-irresistible --

A hand - scarred; its fault, again - slips between their legs, and it loses itself and all the encroaching ghosts of thoughts to blissful physicality. It unravels under the touch, shaking, letting filth drip from its tongue in a language the host doesn’t know, but might, if they heard it together, somehow understand. For a few sweet moments, everything is forgotten, and a blank slate retreats into the dark.

Bakura Ryou wakes in a dark bedroom to deal with the mess and the bruises and the confusion alone.


End file.
